


No one laughs at God

by Hepzheba



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hepzheba/pseuds/Hepzheba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you cope with losing a part of your heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one laughs at God

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of the rumors of Derek crying in the trailer for season 3. The title is from Regina Spektor's amazing song [Laughing with](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pxRXP3w-sQ) (click for video). 
> 
> Warnings for major character death and grief.
> 
> This piece is un-beta'd 'cause I only wrote it to get it out of my system.
> 
> And [Vendelin](http://ljummen.tumblr.com/), I'm sad to hear that you won't talk to me if you read this (so please don't read it, I still wanna talk to you!)
> 
> I kinda hate myself for writing this.

Derek is the one holding Scott back when Scott tries to get to Stiles. Derek knows that it does no good for Scott to rush forward, that it’s already too late. The demon disappears into nothingness with Stiles’ body hanging limply from her arm and the forest is once more eerily quiet save from Scott’s cries.

“No!” Scott cries and Derek holds him through Scott’s thrashing. “No, no, no.”

They slump down onto the ground, mud leaking into Derek’s jeans but it’s the least of his concerns.

“He’s gone,” he whispers into Scott’s hair, and he doesn’t know if it’s for Scott’s or his own sake that he repeats the words. The realization still doesn’t sink in. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Scott whimpers and holds onto Derek’s biceps and Derek rocks them slowly.

 

They emerge out of the woods hours later. The sun is starting to rise on the horizon, a soft pink and orange light over the trees. Isaac is the first to see them. He rises from the steps up to the porch of the old, burnt out skeleton that is the remains of the Hales’ house.

“Stiles?” Lydia is the one who asks the question, just one word. One name.

Derek shakes his head grimly. Allison lets out a gasp and she has her hands around Scott’s neck in no time. Scott shakes and they sit down onto the ground. Scott is exhausted after the fight with the demon, but even more so from the loss of his best friend. Isaac and Boyd crowd in on Derek and Derek hugs them both, one arm over each of their shoulders. He’s surprised when Lydia pushes herself in between them, leaning her forehead against Derek’s chest and hugs him tightly around the middle. Isaac and Boyd hug her too and Derek pulls them all closer, burying his nose in Lydia’s strawberry blonde hair (Derek would say it’s red, but Stiles says – said – it was strawberry blonde and Stiles is – was – usually right).

 

The Sheriff is the hardest one to tell.

“What do you mean, no body?” he asks and Derek understands. The Sheriff is a cop, he wants proof, he _needs_ proof.

“The demon took it,” Derek says in a low voice, “after Stiles’ sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Sheriff asks. “Tell me everything.”

The Sheriff knows about the demon that’s been hunting the town the last weeks. Derek tells him about the spell Stiles found that would vanquish her. Stiles, of course, hadn’t told anyone else of the spell as it required a sacrifice, a human sacrifice. Derek just found out when he took a look into Stiles’ room, waiting for the Sheriff to get home. Had Derek known about the spell he would have kept Stiles as far away from the demon as possible. Stiles had run the knife right into his heart, chanting in Latin and the demon’s powers had kept Derek and Scott from running to him, had kept them from saving him. The demon would return into the underworld with Stiles and there it would burn.

Derek’s tells the story in a monotone voice.

“You bastard!” the Sheriff cries and hits Derek in the face.

Derek could dodge the blow, could stop the Sheriff, but he doesn’t.

“I know,” he just whispers and the Sheriff stops hitting him. His eyes are glistening with tears and then he pulls Derek into a tight hug, sobbing quietly.

Derek doesn’t want to go to the funeral but he does anyway.

There is a photo of Stiles at the front of the church. He’s smiling brightly, mischievously, looking like there are no worries in the world, even though he just got out of hospital two days before the photo was taken because of a rogue Omega. Lydia had helped him cover the fading bruise across his cheekbone with make-up, the split lip had almost healed but it’s still visible on the photo.

The priest talks about God and how Stiles is in a better place. Derek isn’t so sure about that, but he hopes. God, how he hopes Stiles is in a better place.

Derek is in the front row along with the pack and the Sheriff. They haven’t been one pack earlier, before Stiles… There were two packs then, Derek’s and Scott’s, but they couldn’t keep problems from each other and more often worked together than not (much thanks to Stiles). But Derek knows that now there’s only one pack. Derek doesn’t know who the Alpha of this newly formed pack will be, but he knows that if Scott challenges him for the position he’s going to let Scott have it.

Right now though, Scott needs someone to lean on. Allison holds one of his hands and Derek is at Scott’s other side, pressing in closely and Scott presses just as closely back. The Sheriff is on Derek’s other side and Derek wonders how he became the anchor for the Sheriff. The Sheriff is crying openly but silently and Derek leans a bit closer, touch is really the only way of comfort he can think of. The Sheriff claps his knee and maybe touch is enough right now.

 

The smell of Stiles is almost gone from the sheets in Stiles’ bed. They smell of Derek and the rest of the pack and faintly underneath that they still smell of Stiles – like fresh summer and sweet fruits and safety.

The Sheriff has offered the couch for Derek, even offered his own bed, but Derek stays in Stiles’ bed. The Sheriff has taken to sleep on a camp-bed in his office, keeping the door opened, and the rest of the pack is in the Sheriff’s king sized bed. The Sheriff had looked a little bit confused when he caught Derek, Scott and Isaac in Stiles’ bed the night after – but now he doesn’t seem to care. Stiles’ bed is too small for all of them and Derek doesn’t really understand how they managed to sleep three almost grown-up men in it, it’s cramped even when it’s only two persons in it.

Derek is the one who has stayed in Stiles’ bed every night – and some days – since then, sometimes he has the company of other pack members and sometimes he’s left alone. Derek doesn’t dare to think why this affects him so, he knows – of course he knows, he _feels_ it in his very bones – but he pushes it away. His parents’ death weren’t this hard – not even Laura’s took him this hard and Derek knows why. He knows that this is what it’s like to only have a part of your own heart, the other part being forever lost. It hurts, it hurts like a fucking stake through the heart, but it doesn’t heal.

It doesn’t fucking _heal_.

 

Derek doesn’t tell the others when he leaves the house. He’s been inside it for almost three weeks and they’ll probably be worried when they realize he has left Stiles’ bed.

Deaton takes in his appearance.

“I will have to call you back, Jenny,” Deaton says into the phone and hangs up before even waiting for a reply. “Derek.”

Derek nods at him, shifts his weight onto his other foot.

“What can I do for you?”

It’s a simple question, a polite question, but there’s a weight to it, and Derek knows his answer will be even heavier.

“I want him back.”

“No,” Deaton answers, as calm as always.

“You can do it, can’t you?”

“I won’t.”

“But you can, right?”

Deaton just gives him an even stare and Derek leaves. He feels like crying, he always feels like crying these days. But he hasn’t. He doesn’t.

 

“We can get him back, Lyds,” Derek says but Lydia just shakes her head.

“No,” she says.

“Come on,” Derek begs, pleads, with her.

Lydia just shakes her head.

“There are things we should not be messing with and this is one of those things.”

“Lydia, please.”

Lydia shakes her head, her green eyes tearing up.

“I miss him just as much as you, Derek,” she whispers and tries to take his hand into hers.

Derek gets up from the couch and goes into Stiles’ room. He looks for all magic books Stiles had, but he finds none.

The computer has been password protected and Derek can’t get in. He throws the computer into the wall, wishing the sound of the computer breaking would somehow mend him.

It doesn’t.

 

Derek stirs as the bedroom door is pushed opened, but doesn’t open his eyes. It’s the heavy footsteps of the Sheriff.

“Derek,” the Sheriff says quietly and Derek moves onto his back, opens his eyes. The Sheriff is carrying a tray with food on. “You have to eat.”

Derek’s stomach churns at the thought of eating. He turns his back to the Sheriff and hears as the Sheriff puts down the tray on the bedside table. There’s a heavy sigh and the Sheriff sits down on the edge of the bed. A hand is placed on Derek’s arm and Derek turns onto his back.

“Derek, son, you have to eat,” the Sheriff insists.

Derek stares up into the white ceiling, following a crack in the paint with his eyes.

“It hurts,” he says, croaks – he hasn’t spoken for days.

“I know. It gets better.”

“Does it?” Derek asks and turns his eyes to the Sheriff’s.

The Sheriff smiles gently.

“It will come a time when you can smile again, when you can remember the good times without breaking apart completely.”

“But it never stops hurting, does it?”

“No,” the Sheriff sighs, “no, it doesn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

Derek finds an unwashed shirt in Stiles’ closet. It’s a plaid and Derek can’t even remember if he’s seen Stiles wear it. He probably has.

The shirt smells of Stiles only, no one else, and Derek buries his face deep into it and cries – for the first time since Stiles… since Stiles died. 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide if Derek and Stiles should be a couple before the incident or not, so I left that one to your imagination.
> 
> Next thing I write will either be smut or Deucalion as a failwolf - I can't really handle angst but this needed to get out. I'm sorry.


End file.
